


My Immortal Valentine

by cplberen



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-02-13
Updated: 1998-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 21:45:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cplberen/pseuds/cplberen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As it has been every fifty years, Valentine's Day is the day when Kaia and Duncan MacLeod meet up. He thinks of it as a friendly get-together. She has quite different ideas though...</p><p>An "episode" written for Highlander the Fanfiction Season I.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Immortal Valentine

**Teaser**

When Duncan MacLeod arrived at Maurice's club late in the afternoon, it was still practically deserted, just a couple of customers, the bartender, and Joe Dawson. The Watcher was sitting on a stool on the stage playing his guitar, eyes closed, lost in the music. Duncan quietly ordered a beer, and stood with it leaning against the bar, not wanting to interrupt. The tune was low and sweet, and just a touch mournful. When the song ended Duncan set the glass down and clapped vigorously.

Joe opened his eyes, startled. He squinted for a second, then his face broke into a wide grin and he waved Duncan over.

"Hey, Mac!" he said as Duncan crossed the room.

Duncan smiled. "That was nice," he said gesturing toward the guitar. "One of yours?"

"Something I'm working on," Joe nodded. "It's almost there."

"Sounds great."

"Thanks. Are we still on for dinner with Richie tonight?"

"Yeah," Duncan answered. "We have reservations at 8:30."

"Sad state of affairs," Joe said, shaking his head sadly.

"What?" Duncan was baffled.

"That not one of us has a date for Valentine's Day," Joe said, breaking into a big grin. "Even Altea is out of town."

"Valentine's Day?" Duncan asked.

"Yeah, Valentine's Day." Joe was puzzled, Duncan looked almost shocked. "You okay, Mac?"

Duncan was looking at his watch. "1998?"

Joe laughed, "All year."

Duncan abruptly set his beer down on the nearest table and headed for the door.

"Mac?" Joe called after him, but Duncan didn't look back. "Hey, Mac!"

Duncan took the stairs two at a time, and was gone.

* * *

**PART ONE**

**Scene One**

Richie heard a car pull up behind him as he took off his helmet and stepped off of his motorcycle. It was Joe, and Richie waited so they could go in together.

"Hey Joe," he said as the Watcher stepped out of his car. "How's it going?"

"Can't complain. How 'bout yourself?"

"Well, the research is going well, but..." Richie looked sheepish.

"You miss Altea," Joe observed. Richie nodded. "She's only been down in Marseilles for what, a week?"

"Yeah, well..." Richie blushed and looked away.

Joe laughed and threw an arm around his shoulders. "Better plan something special for when she gets back, then."

Richie's smile flashed. "Already in the works." They started toward the barge. "Is Methos coming with us?"

"No, he said he already had plans."

"Ohh, some kind of hot date, huh?"

"He wouldn't say," Joe said with a grin. As they stepped aboard, Richie tensed automatically.

"Well, at least we know Mac's here," Joe said wryly.

Joe banged on the door a couple of times, then opened it and stepped through. And stopped so abruptly that Richie, close on his heels, plowed into him, nearly overbalancing him. Richie reached out to steady the Watcher, and then peered in to see what had startled him.

The room was lit solely by candles, and rose petals were strewn artistically about. There was a small table set for two, and soft music flowed from the stereo speakers. And Duncan was just turning to face them, dressed in a tuxedo, face beaming. The smile faded. "Oh, it's you," he said, obviously disappointed.

"Nice to see you too, Mac," Richie said with a chuckle. "I thought we were going out. I mean, it's nice of you to go to all this effort," he teased, walking forward, "but where's Joe gonna sit?"

Duncan did not smile. "Look, uh, something's come up."

"Obviously," Joe said with a grin.

"You two go on without me," Duncan said, trying to maneuver them back toward the door. "In fact, it's on me. Only fair since I'm canceling on you. Just tell Michel to put it on my tab."

Neither moved. Richie looked at Joe and said, "You know, he must want us out of here pretty bad if he's willing to foot the bill." Joe nodded. "So who is she?"

"She?" Duncan repeated.

"The woman," Richie said.

"The woman?"

Just then Joe saw both Immortals tense, and he and Richie turned toward the door expectantly.

The door opened slowly. A tall, stunningly beautiful woman with long thick honey-gold hair stepped through the door. She was dressed in a long silk evening gown the color of new leaves, which clung and draped in all the right places, and was fastened over one shoulder, leaving the other bare. Her blue eyes swept across Richie and Joe without seeming to notice them, and locked on Duncan standing at the foot of the short flight of stairs. She moved toward him, seeming to flow with liquid grace rather than walk. When she reached Duncan, she produced a single long-stemmed rose which she held out to him.

"Happy Valentine's Day, darling." Her voice recalled warm summer nights, dark chocolate and crushed velvet.

 

* * *

FLASHBACK: VALENTINE'S DAY 1648, EUROPE

Duncan MacLeod was walking beside his horse along a path through the forest. He had been riding hard all day and was giving his horse a rest. He'd spent the night before in a small village where he'd met his kinsman Connor to exchange news. And to have Connor trounce him again. He suspected that Connor had just wanted to check up on him... sometimes he was a bit of a mother hen.

It didn't look like he was going to reach the next village by nightfall, and Duncan was scanning the area looking for a place to make his camp, when suddenly he felt the presence of another Immortal, and turned around to see a horse and rider coming around the last bend. The hooded and cloaked traveler pulled up sharply. The figure dismounted in one fluid motion, drew a sword, and moved toward him slowly.

Duncan drew his sword and took a defensive, but not threatening stance. "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

The figure threw the hood back, and to Duncan's amazement, it was a beautiful woman with the eyes of a dove and hair the color of sweet honey. Duncan's sword lowered a fraction as he spoke the bit of verse which sprang into his mind unbidden.

"My lady's presence makes the roses red, Because to see her lips they blush for shame."

The woman halted her advance, a startled smile tugging at her lips, and a speculative gleam in her eye. Her sword wavered a trifle as if with indecision.

"'Tis not the season yet for flowers, sir." Her voice caressed his ears and Duncan smiled.

"I was mistaken then, my lady, and I humbly beg your pardon. Your presence so warmed the air I thought perhaps you had brought the spring." Duncan bowed slightly to her.

She smiled then and inclined her head gracefully in acknowledgment. "I am Kaia Doran," she said, lowering her sword.

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he returned, lowering his sword as well.

"So you said," she laughed.

Duncan blushed. "Uh... I was about to make camp, perhaps the lady would care to share my fire. I would welcome the company."

She looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded slowly.

Duncan rolled onto his side inside his sleeping furs and tried not to think of the proximity of his beautiful companion across the fire from him. They had had a very pleasant evening sharing a meal of salted beef, bread, and wine. They'd talked mostly about recent travels and nearby towns and villages, with a little discussion of the progress of the wars going on all over Europe thrown in. He'd been sorely tempted to try to move beyond conversation, but Kaia was a real lady and he hadn't wanted to offend her.

"Duncan." A whisper from very close.

He rolled quickly onto his back and found himself staring into her eyes, her face just inches above him.

"I just remembered that it is St. Valentine's Day today," she whispered.

"It is?" Duncan murmured, feeling a little disoriented, as if he were falling into her eyes, although he knew himself to be lying on the ground.

"It is," she purred. She moved ever so slowly down to brush his lips with hers, and then pulled back. "Happy St. Valentine's Day, Duncan MacLeod."

Duncan, emboldened by the kiss, reached up to pull her head gently back down, and when she did not resist, he kissed her more thoroughly. When the kiss was over, he said in a low husky voice, "Happy St. Valentine's Day, Kaia Doran."

She smiled. Duncan took her in his arms and rolled them both until she was lying on her back. He moved a lock of hair away from her neck with a gentle finger, and kissed the spot on her throat where her pulse throbbed. Kaia gave a low laugh and he pulled back to look at her for a moment, then bent his head to continue their celebration.

The next morning Duncan woke alone. If not for the lingering scent of her in his makeshift bed, he might have thought she'd been a dream. He dressed quickly and resumed his journey, his thoughts full of her voice and her touch.

 

* * *

THE PRESENT

Duncan just stood there drinking in the sight of her, and the silence spun on. Finally she asked, "We have company?" tilting her head ever so slightly to indicate the two men watching from the entry. She turned to face them, looking at them for the first time. Duncan still made no move to introduce them, captivated by her presence.

"Joe Dawson," Joe said with a little chuckle. She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment, and turned toward Richie who came partway down the steps to take her hand.

"Richard Redstone," he said, giving his alias, his voice deeper than usual. "Mac here taught me everything I know."

She smiled. "Always glad to meet a student of Duncan's. Kaia Doran. Duncan and I have a standing date on Valentine's Day every fifty years." Her eyes held Richie's a moment longer, and then were drawn back to Duncan. Turning away, she missed seeing Joe stiffen at her name.

The music from the stereo seemed to swirl about Duncan and Kaia, a rumba. Kaia moved into the circle of Duncan's arms and they began to dance to the slow seductive Latin beat.

Joe turned to leave, stopping to poke Richie with his cane, and, getting his attention, motioned for him to follow. They were all the way out to Joe's car before Richie finally seemed to come out of his daze.

"Wow." Richie shook his head to clear it. He saw that Joe's face showed a mixture of concern and alarm. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Joe shook his head and opened the car door. "Nothing, Rich." He got into the car. "Can you give me a rain check on dinner? I just remembered something I have to do," he said, shutting the door. Without waiting for an answer, he started the car. Waving a farewell at Richie, he drove away.

Richie stood watching in confusion for a moment, and then turned to his bike. "Looks like it's just you and me, pal," he said swinging his leg over and putting on his helmet. "Don't you ditch me, huh?"

 

* * *

**Scene Two**

Joe sat at his desk in his flat. The apartment was a pretty spartan affair, without much reflection of its tenant's warm personality to contrast the stark walls and utilitarian furniture. There just never seemed much point in carting all his things to Paris when he knew MacLeod would just end up going back to Seacouver anyway. Such was the life of a Watcher.

Joe was leafing through MacLeod's chronicles, as he had been doing since coming to his flat from MacLeod's barge. He sometimes moved quickly, skipping whole decades, and sometimes spent a half hour or more on a single day, trying to wring every nuance of meaning from that particular Watcher's account.

He was just coming to the end of his third reading of the entry for Valentine's Day, 1748. He stopped reading, closed his eyes for a moment, and then swore softly under his breath. He opened a drawer, pulling out a battered address book, and reached for the phone.

"Bill? This is Joe Dawson.... Yeah, it's been a while. How's the family?... Good, good, glad to hear it. Listen, I need a favor. I need you to email me everything we have on Kaia Doran for the years 1648, 1698, 1748, 1798, 1848, 1898, and 1948.... No, I lost my database when my hard drive was wiped.... Yeah, I know it's late.... No... no, look, Bill, it's important. I really need it right now.... Oh, it's not.... Well, then email the ones that are in the main computer, and fax me the others.... Great. I owe you one, pal.... Thanks."

Joe reached over to turn the fax machine on, and then returned to his perusal of the chronicles. He glanced over at the clock and swore under his breath again. There just wasn't much time.

 

* * *

**Scene Three**

They had danced for a long while, and then eaten the wonderful meal. Now Duncan and Kaia were relaxing on the couch in front of the fire. They were catching up, as they did during each Valentine's Day rendezvous. Kaia tended to give a travelogue version of the past fifty years, talking at length about the places she'd been and the things she'd seen. Duncan's tales usually centered around people; those he'd met, students he'd trained, friends he'd made, and loves he'd had.

"I wish I'd known your Tessa." Kaia's voice was soft, gentle. "She must have been a wonderful woman to have so captured your heart."

"She was."

"So, what about students?" she asked with the air of someone trying to lighten the mood by changing the subject. "You haven't mentioned any."

"Well, there's Richie..."

"Yes," she smiled, interrupting. "I met him earlier. But you've taken on no others?"

"Not lately. There was one girl, but I decided to send her to Amanda to train."

"Too much for you, Duncan?" she teased.

"She was... a little on the wild side," Duncan admitted.

They looked at one another for a long moment.

"It's good to see you again," he said softly.

"And you." Kaia smiled. "You know, I haven't seen you in formal wear since... the time we met in New York. Do you remember?"

Duncan laughed and nodded his head.

 

* * *

FLASHBACK: VALENTINE'S DAY 1848, NEW YORK CITY

Duncan waited for Kaia in front of the theater. He'd gotten a box for a performance of "The Magic Flute." Kaia was later than he'd expected, however, and he could hear the opening strains of the opera through the open lobby doors. He was beginning to worry that she wouldn't be able to find him this time, although she always had before.

Then he saw a carriage coming down the street, and as it drew close he smiled in relief as he sensed the approach of an Immortal. Kaia alighted from the carriage, resplendent in red silk, a radiant smile on her face. They stood looking at each other for a moment, and then Duncan held out his arms to her.

She moved into his embrace, kissed his cheek and whispered into his ear. "You led me a merry chase this time, you naughty boy."

Duncan laughed. "I'm not that much younger than you, fair lady, and at more than 250, I can hardly be considered a boy."

She laughed with him. "Just naughty, then, if not a boy. So, what **do** you have planned for us this evening?" She peered at the sign advertising the opera.

"Come with me and I'll show you," Duncan replied. He led the way to the doors, only to find the way blocked by a rather bovine-looking security man.

"I'm sorry sir, but no one can come in without having their ticket taken."

"Well, here are our tickets," Duncan said, holding them out to the man.

"Oh, I can't take your tickets, sir," the man said shaking his head vigorously.

"Then who **can** take our tickets?"

"That would be Billy, sir."

"All right, where is Billy?" Duncan asked, beginning to get annoyed.

"Oh, he's up in the manager's office now, sir."

"Well, then could you go and get him?"

"No, sir. I'm not supposed to leave these doors unattended," The horror of leaving his post was manifest on his face.

"How are we supposed to get in, then?" Duncan was thoroughly exasperated.

"Well I don't know, sir. That **is** a puzzler," the security man said scratching his head.

A snort of suppressed laughter came from Kaia's direction. "Come along, Duncan," she said. "We're very sorry to have bothered you, sir." Duncan looked at her incredulously, but she tugged on his arm and cocked her head meaningfully.

"Oh, that's all right, ma'am," the man said, his face suddenly beaming. "You two have a nice evening, and be sure to come again."

They walked away quickly, stifling giggles. When they reached the alley beside the theater, Kaia stopped, still giggling, and pointed to a lighted stage door. Duncan hesitated, and she looked at him challengingly. He grinned and grabbed her hand, running with her down the alley.

Duncan pulled open the door quietly, only to find yet another security man.

"You'll have to go 'round the front, folks," he said, pointing back up the alley. "There'll be a man there who can take care of you." And with that, he yanked the door shut.

"Oh, but he can't, sir," Kaia said softly in deft mimicry of the first security man.

Duncan burst out laughing and took her arm. "My room isn't far from here, I can at least promise you dinner there."

They started walking, Kaia shaking her head sadly. "I did so want to hear that opera."

"I suppose I could sing it for you," Duncan said, and, clearing his throat, began a lusty rendition of the opening.

 

* * *

THE PRESENT

"It's a good thing you weren't relying on your voice to put food on the table."

They both burst out laughing. "What a night," Kaia finally managed. She took her glass of champagne from the low table and lifted it. "Here's to many more in the years to come."

Duncan touched his glass to hers and both drained their glasses ceremonially.

 

* * *

**Scene Four**

The fax machine on Joe's desk began to whir softly and Joe looked up, blinking to refocus his eyes. He'd been pouring over the chronicles for hours, just now coming to the end of the 1948 Valentine's Day entry. He was rotating his neck a little to ease the tension there when his voice line rang.

"Joe? It's Bill. Okay, the stuff I emailed you should be there by now, and I'm faxing the rest right now."

"Thanks, Bill. I owe you one."

"Yeah, yeah, so you said. Not to worry, I'm sure I'll think of something you can do for me," Bill laughed. "Hey, I ran across something that your friend Adam Pierson would have been interested in. It seems that Kaia ran into Methos about 1500 years ago. The rest of that stuff seemed like pretty basic fare, so I threw that in to liven things up. Look, I gotta get home, it's after 1 am."

"Okay, and thanks again, Bill."

"No problem. See ya'."

Joe accessed his email and printed off the entries there. He pulled the sheets from the fax machine and began organizing all the material in chronological order. He set aside the information about Kaia's meeting with Methos for the moment, and settled back to read.

* * *

  
 

**Scene Five**

They were dancing again. Their bodies moved in harmony, Kaia's fitted to Duncan's. Every now and then one would whisper in the other's ear, or seek the other's lips for a soft kiss. As time went on, they whispered less and kissed more.

Duncan moved Kaia's hair back, and bent his head to place a kiss at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Kaia murmured contentedly, a sound almost like a purr, and ran her hands up Duncan's back.

They kissed, each seeking to explore the other's mouth more thoroughly now. Duncan began dancing them toward the bed. Kaia reached between them to unbutton his jacket, and then pushed it off his shoulders. She took the opportunity to run her hands over his arms, appreciating anew the strength of him.

They neared the bed, and Duncan's hands began to explore, trying to discover the secret of unfastening her gown. Kaia stepped away from him, silencing his protest with a brief touch of a fingertip to his lips, then reached a hand toward the dress's shoulder knot.

Duncan's face broke into a delighted smile when, with a deft flick of her fingers, the dress shimmered to the floor.

* * *

**Scene Six**

Joe leaned back and breathed a heavy sigh. It'd taken hours, but he'd finally managed to correlate the last bits of information. He had gone through and tucked the relevant pages into Duncan's chronicles at the corresponding rendezvous entry. The evidence was disturbing, damning even, especially the bit about Connor, but Joe doubted MacLeod would believe him. This was a woman he had a long-standing relationship with, or at least that's how Mac would see things.

He picked up the entry about the meeting with Methos and began to read without much hope. Most Methos "sightings" turned out to be as reliable as reports of UFOs. This one was different, however. The physical description was eerily accurate, and even his actions had a familiar feel.

But it was Kaia's actions that propelled him out of his chair. He put the relevant chronicles into a small box, put the Methos entry in with them, tucked the box under his arm and grabbed his cane.

 

* * *

**Scene Seven**

Methos went from deeply asleep to fully awake in the space between two heartbeats. It was a skill he'd perfected over the long years. He did not sense another Immortal so he remained tucked under his blankets a moment longer while his mind identified the noise: banging. Someone was banging on his door. With a stick, by the sound of it.

Wearily he sat up and swung his legs around to subject his feet to the cold floor. He glanced at the clock and saw, with a surge of irritation, that it was just after 4 am. He'd been asleep for some time, his date had been, well, just a date, not a hot date.

"Meth- Adam! Adam it's Joe!" More banging. "Adam!!"

Methos' eyes strayed to his sword leaning against the wall. Too bad it couldn't double as a baseball bat. He abruptly launched himself from the bed, not bothering with a robe to cover his boxer-clad frame.

"If there isn't a fire," he muttered as he started across the room. "No, if this building is not on fire," he said, louder this time, as he passed the chair. "No, if **you** are not on fire," he snarled as he jerked open the door.

Joe brushed past him the moment the door was open, talking all the way. "Methos, we have a big problem. I need to know..." He glanced back and saw Methos still standing by the open door looking out. "Methos! Come on, we don't have time to mess around." Joe set the box down on the bar.

"Won't you come in?" Methos asked the empty air in front of his door, and then slammed it shut. "Make yourself at home," he said softly, no humor at all in his eyes.

"We've got a problem. If what I think is true, we don't have much time," Joe said, his words crowding each other to get out of his mouth.

Methos sighed heavily and made an effort to leash his temper. "Joe, I haven't killed anyone for waking me in the middle of the night in more than a thousand years, but if you do not make your point quickly..."

Joe's face registered only irritation. He retrieved the pages about Kaia and Methos from the box, and brandished them at Methos as if making an accusation. "Did you know her?"

Methos' hand flashed out and snatched the sheets from Joe. He strode briskly to the high-backed chair, settled himself into it, and began to read.

 

* * *

FLASHBACK: 485 AD, NORTHWESTERN GAUL

Methos made his way up the hill, deep in thought. He was living in a small village on the other side of the hill. He'd been moving steadily west and north ever since the Emperor Constantine moved the imperial seat east to Byzantium and renamed it Constantinople. Always one to sense change in the winds, this seemed an omen to Methos, and the subsequent chaos caused by the "barbarian" invasions proved his suspicions correct. Now, with rumors of new trouble brewing near the Rhine and moving west, he was seriously considering moving on to Britain. Soon, he thought, perhaps after his current student's training was finished. He didn't mind taking on the occasional student, but he preferred to travel alone. Neil should be ready to be on his own in two years, three at the outside. He could afford to wait that long.

The familiar sensation heralding the approach of another Immortal swept through his head, and he heard hoofbeats behind him a moment later. Methos turned and drew his sword in one motion, facing the approaching rider warily.

A woman, Methos noted with some surprise, as the rider dismounted. He hadn't met many female Immortals over the years, they didn't seem to last long. Memories of Cassandra niggled at the edges of his thoughts for a moment and he swept them away, needing to concentrate on **this** female. She approached warily, her sword in her hand, but held in an unthreatening manner. She was quite lovely, his mind noted, and he ruthlessly banished that thought as well.

"Kaia Doran."

"Methos."

Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "I am traveling, sir, and have no wish for battle," she said breathlessly, a hesitant smile on her lips.

"Where are you going?" Methos asked, not really interested, merely trying to prolong the conversation, needing time to assess her as a threat.

"I go to Rome, sir," she answered with wide-eyed enthusiasm. "I've always wanted to see the Basilica of St. Peter."

Young, his mind reported, picking up the nuance, and foolish, given the uncertainty there. Still, she was no threat to him, and he did not kill unnecessarily any longer. Again, disturbing thoughts threatened to surface, and his eyes narrowed.

"Will you permit me to pass, sir?" she asked, concern clouding her features.

Methos smiled a little to reassure the girl and shook off the past. "I will not hinder you. It would be best for you to avoid the village yonder," he said, gesturing toward the hill. "There is another Immortal there, my student. And under my protection," he added seriously.

Kaia nodded her head. "I will do as you say, sir, and thank you. Go with God, Methos."

Methos smiled again at that. "And you." This Christian god was pervasive. He watched as she mounted and rode off, taking a path which would avoid the village.

The next morning Methos rose reluctantly from his bed. Neil would already be at their practice field beyond the hill, he knew. Methos grimaced. Neil was so... eager. Getting intolerant in your old age, he chided himself, and then laughed at his own absurdity. He strode out of his hut considerably lighter of heart.

He heard/felt it then, and broke into a run, knowing it was already too late. A quickening. He reached the top of the hill and stopped, staring in disbelief at the scene below. Neil lay dead, beheaded, and his killer hurriedly mounted her horse. Kaia. She looked up at him for one brief moment, triumph and scorn written clearly on her face, and then galloped away.

Methos hunted her for months after that. Not trying to avenge his student, he wouldn't waste his time on that kind of foolishness. But she'd fooled him right proper, and that he couldn't let pass. The long, cold nights on the road, and the difficult search were his way of punishing himself, driving home the lesson.

Finally her trail went cold, and he gave it up. He set off for Britain and a new life.

 

* * *

THE PRESENT

Methos' eyes moved from the sheets of faxed material to Joe where he sat on the couch. "You got me up in the middle of the night to confirm a 'Methos sighting'?" His voice was incredulous.

"Of course not. Just answer the question, is the report accurate? Did you meet Kaia?"

"All right, yes, I've met her. What of it?"

"She's in town."

"What? How do you know?"

"Because I saw her at MacLeod's barge last night."

"What the hell is she doing with MacLeod?"

"He has a standing date with her." Joe explained on about their meetings every fifty years.

"He trusts her?!" Methos nearly shouted, launching himself from the chair.

Joe struggled off of the couch. "Hold on a minute, Methos, there's more."

Methos stopped abruptly and turned. "What do you mean, 'more'?"

A half hour later found Methos at his desk poring over the chronicles, with Joe seated nearby. Methos had thrown on a robe to ward off the chill.

"Do you see? Here. MacLeod meets Benat Mateo, who is a new Immortal, in Toulouse. October, 1697. Then, the Valentine's Day meeting with Kaia in Paris, 1698. Kaia then goes directly to Toulouse, finds Mateo, and kills him."

Methos was skeptical. "Coincidence."

"Once, maybe. But go to the next place I marked. 1747. MacLeod meets Tibalt Hirsch in Zurich, trains him for a while. Again, he's very young. MacLeod leaves abruptly, goes to Augsburg, leaving Hirsch behind for some reason. His Watcher wasn't sure why. Then the 1748 rendezvous. Kaia then travels to Zurich, and kills Hirsch."

"This happens every time?"

"Every time."

"Show me. And start from the beginning."

Methos was dressing rapidly. They'd gone through the entries in MacLeod's chronicles one by one, and the corresponding entries from Kaia's. The evidence was overwhelming. Kaia hunted down and killed a new Immortal that MacLeod had met recently after each Valentine's Day rendezvous. Presumably acting on information MacLeod had unwittingly given her. Another disturbing fact was that she had been following Connor MacLeod for months when he met up with Duncan the day before his and Kaia's first meeting. That coupled with her penchant for hunting only young Immortals suggested rather strongly that she had been after him that day.

"Well, at least there's no student for her to go after this time..." Joe stopped, his face clouding as something tugged at his thoughts.

"I don't care," Methos said, hurriedly tying his shoes. "I want to get there before she leaves, and it's almost dawn now." He looked up at Joe, who was now wearing a stricken expression. "What is it?"

"Richie."

"What about him? He's no student."

"He said something about MacLeod teaching him when he introduced himself. And Kaia said, 'Always glad to meet a student of Duncan's.'"

Methos picked up his sword and walked to where his overcoat was hanging by the door without saying a word. He put it on and secreted his sword within it. He looked back at Joe expectantly.

"Coming?"

 

* * *

**Scene Eight**

A faint, cold light was just visible on the eastern horizon, heralding the dawn to come, when Kaia rose and dressed quickly. She could see MacLeod watching her from the bed, looking positively adorable. His hair was rumpled, his eyes still smoky in the afterglow of their passion. She paused to smile at him fondly. She felt pleasantly relaxed and deliciously sated. All she needed now to complete her feeling of satisfaction was a good quickening.

"You could stay," MacLeod ventured from the bed.

Kaia walked to the bed, sat on the edge, and cupped his cheek with a hand. His expression was so sweet that for a moment she was tempted. But only for a moment. It was time she was on her way.

"And give you time to grow tired of me?" she teased softly.

"I could never get tired of you." He took her hand from his cheek and kissed the palm.

She leaned forward and pressed a soft, regretful kiss to his lips. "I wish I could, my darling Duncan, I truly do. But I must be off. I have things to do.

 

* * *

FLASHBACK: VALENTINE'S DAY 1698, PARIS

Kaia strolled past the Palais Luxembourg on her way to the gardens. She bundled her fur wrap closer about her shoulders. What idiot planned a garden party for the middle of February? It had to have been the King, of course. All kings thought they could order anything by royal decree, even the weather. Half of his court would be ill by week's end, and it would serve him right. Kings!

Kaia grimaced, and then carefully schooled her features into a polite and smiling mask. She nodded pleasantly to a pair of ladies as she passed them. She found her way to the hospitality tent, and procured a cup of hot, spiced wine for herself. She looked about, trying to locate a group of people whose conversation might be worth the bother.

A little tickle in the back of her mind alerted her to an Immortal presence. That quiet warning -- a gift, an advantage that meant the Immortal could not yet sense her as well, so quiet she could miss it if she were preoccupied or sleeping -- had saved her head more times than she cared to count. She set down her cup and scrutinized those on the far side of the tent, looking for anyone she might recognize.

Ahh... Segur. The wily old fox was still alive, then. Kaia was about to turn and make her exit before he came within range, when she saw the man with whom he was deep in conversation. It couldn't be... and yet it was. Duncan MacLeod. And looking very much the gentleman, too.

Kaia thought swiftly. It was a risk to join them, to be sure, but Duncan would leap to protect her, certainly. In any event, old Segur had never known he was being followed, and hadn't actually seen her that day she'd taken his student. And then the day's date occurred to her and she simply couldn't resist. It was too perfect.

Walking outside and around the tent so that she would approach them from behind, Kaia made her way slowly up to the point where they would sense her as well. When that tingling, not quite nauseating feeling swept through her, she moved more quickly, and when Duncan turned in her direction she flashed him a brilliant smile.

"Happy St. Valentine's Day, Duncan darling," she said, her eyes locked on his, not acknowledging Segur's presence.

Duncan gaped at her a moment, and then, "Kaia!" He took her hand, bowing over it and brushing his lips across her knuckles in a manner that made her shiver with anticipation. Oh yes, she was glad she hadn't killed this one. He did not release her hand, his fingertips caressing her palm.

Segur cleared his throat. Duncan seemed to start, and then looked embarrassed. "Kaia, this is Segur. Segur, Kaia Doran. She is..." Duncan faltered.

"I am his special Valentine," Kaia put in.

Segur chuckled. "I am very pleased to meet you, Mademoiselle Doran." He took her hand from Duncan, and, bowing over it, kissed the air above her fingers. Kaia smiled pleasantly at Segur, and then made her eyes drift back to Duncan as if she were powerless to stop herself.

Segur chuckled again, indulgently. "Duncan, I see someone with whom I simply must speak. I will talk to you tomorrow," he said, deftly excusing himself. "A pleasure, my lady." And he moved off.

Duncan continued to gaze raptly at her, and Kaia waited patiently for him to speak.

"I thought perhaps you'd been a dream," he finally said quietly.

Kaia stretched out a hand and stroked the line of his jaw lightly with her fingertip. Duncan shivered at the touch, acknowledging her reality.

"I simply despise these parties," she said. "Perhaps we could go elsewhere?"

Duncan smiled. "Where would the lady care to go?" he asked, feigning innocence.

Kaia moved closer to him and whispered in his ear. "Is there no place you'd care to take me?"

Duncan took her arm and propelled her out of the tent with almost unseemly haste, her low delighted laughter urging him onward.

They'd made love in his room at a nearby inn, and now were sipping wine lounging on the bed. Duncan was speaking of the things he'd done and the people he'd met in the fifty years since he'd seen her. Kaia was not really listening to him, although her expression was attentive. She was trying to decide whether or not to kill him while he slept. Probably too dangerous. Segur had seen them together, he'd be bound to suspect. And then Duncan's words snagged her attention.

"I met an Immortal named Benat Mateo in Toulouse just a few months ago. He was new."

"How new?" Kaia asked, her voice casual.

"New. He didn't even know what he was. I offered to bring him with me to Paris to study with Segur, but he refused. Said he didn't want to leave his home."

"Why not take him on yourself?" She was curious.

"I'm still learning myself. And he would not have accepted me in any case."

"Oh?"

"He was too frightened of me. He very nearly wilted every time I came near. He just wanted me to leave him alone."

"Then you're better off without him," Kaia said decisively, and turned to put her arms around him. "You have better things to do." She pulled his mouth down to hers.

He was awake when she left him this time, asking her to stay. She refused, of course, but gently. She liked this lad from the Highlands. And he had just gifted her with a young one, telling her where to find him.

"I'll see you again in fifty years, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." She paused at the door to smile fondly at him, and then she was gone.

It hadn't even taken an entire month for Kaia to travel to Toulouse and track down Benat Mateo. His body was never found.

 

* * *

THE PRESENT

"Fifty years, Duncan. Don't forget." Kaia smiled at him.

"I won't forget," he answered softly. She walked away, and smiled when he blew her a kiss when she stopped to look back at him from the door.

 

* * *

**PART THREE**

**Scene Nine**

Kaia had been gone less than twenty minutes, and Duncan was just preparing to go on a short run, when an Immortal presence struck him like a blow. Moments later Methos burst through the door, sword in hand. Duncan took an involuntary step backward when he saw Methos' eyes. There was murder in their gold-green depths.

But Methos pushed past him like he wasn't even there. He gave the main living area a cursory glance, then ducked into the barge's small galley.

"Methos..." MacLeod was baffled by his behavior.

Methos checked the bathroom and then the other small rooms without a word.

"Methos?!" He looked as if he was searching for something. Someone.

Joe came through the open door just as Methos returned to the entry. Neither man looked at MacLeod.

"She's not here. Try Richie again," Methos instructed tersely.

"What are you talking about?" MacLeod demanded.

Joe merely withdrew his cell phone from a pocket and dialed. He listened for several seconds and then shook his head.

"Will someone please tell me what the **hell** is going on here? What are you trying to get Richie for, and why are you," he pointed at Methos, "tearing around here with your sword drawn?"

"There's no time," Methos said impatiently, and moved to leave. MacLeod stood his ground, blocking his path.

"Explain. Now."

They were sitting on the couch. MacLeod was shaking his head in sharp denial.

"No. She's not like that. She wouldn't hunt young ones and..."

"She **is** like that," Methos interrupted.

"Mac, that's her M.O. She's been doing it for thousands of years," Joe asserted.

"Thousands? Come on, she's not much older than I am. She told me herself."

"I'm sure she did, that's part of it too," Methos insisted.

"The Watcher records on Kaia go back almost 2500 years," Joe said. Duncan stared at him in shock. "Methos here ran into her about 1500 years ago. She killed a student of his. I'm telling you, Mac, she's not the person you think she is."

MacLeod turned his eyes to Methos, who nodded and explained briefly. When he finished, MacLeod again shook his head in denial.

"I can't believe it."

"Believe it, MacLeod!" Joe was angry. "1698, Benat Mateo. 1748, Tibalt Hirsch. 1798, Angelique Montreau. Do you want me to go on? I know them all. There's one for every time you saw her. In fact, 1848 must have been a banner year for your **sweet** Kaia, because that time she got two, Lucio Donatelli and David Reis!" Joe was shouting by this time. Methos put a hand on his arm to stop him.

MacLeod listened in shock. Dead? All of them? He could see each face clearly...

"If we're going to catch her we'll have to move fast. She's probably already on her way to Richie's." Methos' voice was all business, wanting to get on with it.

"Richie?"

"Yes, Richie," Joe said forcefully. "I'm sure she thinks he's a student. She said as much when he introduced himself."

"How could she find him?"

"By calling information, that's how **I** got his address last week," Methos said, exasperated. "We're wasting time, we've got to hurry," he said urgently. Something in his voice set MacLeod's teeth on edge.

"Why are you so hot to save Richie?" he asked suspiciously. "You never gave a damn about him before."

Methos' eyes flashed. "I'm **not** trying to save Richie, he can take care of himself. I have my own reasons for wanting her head."

"What? Some student she killed 1500 years ago? Come on, Methos, tell me another," he scoffed.

"Not for my student," Methos said, his voice low, deadly. "No, I have much more personal reasons." The murder was back in his eyes.

 

* * *

FLASHBACK: 1528, PYRENEES MOUNTAINS

Methos had been living just outside a small village in the western Pyrenees Mountains for ten years. It was Basque country, and he loved the land and the people. He thought he could probably spend ten, or maybe even fifteen more years there before he had to move on. He'd found out long ago that he could vary his apparent age widely by changing the length of his hair.

The people in the village were finally starting to accept him a little, mostly because he was generous with his money without flaunting it, and because he spoke the language like a native. He should, all told he'd spent more than a hundred years among the Basque over the centuries. He'd married a local girl five years before, and was enjoying his quiet life. As a sheep farmer with no sheep, he had plenty of time to pursue his studies. Most of what he had in his house were books. He even had a secret place on his land, a hideaway, where he'd been able to store his journals.

He'd come in from his farm because traders, on their way to the pass, were in the village. He was curious to see if they had any books with them. There was quite a crowd around one of the wagons, and he moved to stand on the fringes. He was taller than most of the villagers, so he could easily see the traders' wares from the back.

The distinctive sensation of another Immortal impinged upon his mind, and he forced himself to be still, not looking around. He was in a crowd, there was some chance he could blend in and escape the Immortal's notice if he made no sudden moves. As the direction clarified, he slowly moved his eyes, and turned his head casually.

Methos saw her then, boldly standing in the middle of the street some thirty feet away staring defiantly at him. His eyes narrowed as he recognized her. Kaia.

He moved away from the crowd, walking slowly toward her, and stopped with fifteen feet still between them. He was thinking rapidly, for he could not afford a fight here. So focused was he upon her, that he failed to hear the approach of the out of control team of horses and wagon until it was far too late. They ran him down, and his last thought before death took him was that she had fooled him again.

When he revived, he was surrounded by people. The priest was administering last rites, and his wife was holding his hand and weeping. His first gasp of breath started most of them screaming.

"He's in league with the devil," an hysterical voice cried. Methos turned his head. It was Kaia, standing next to one of the traders, probably the one who spooked the horses, he thought grimly. This had happened to him once before, and he'd barely escaped. He got to his feet, hoping to find a way out of this mess, but the priest ordered several of the village men to hold him.

They burned him, of course. The priest had always had a fanatical bent, and with Kaia to incite the crowd, Methos hadn't really had much of a chance. He'd revived hours later in the forest where they'd dumped his charred body. He had made his way back his secret place on his property. The healing was slower than anything he'd ever experienced, and the pain greater. Finally, when it was over, he washed and dressed in old clothes he'd left in his hideaway. Then he gathered his things and quit the area. There was nothing left for him there.

By the time Methos had caught up with the traders' caravan, Kaia was no longer traveling with them.

 

* * *

THE PRESENT

"So, am I going by myself, or are you coming along?"

MacLeod rose, and Joe began to get to his feet.

"No, Joe. You stay here." Methos' voice left no room for argument.

"Fine, but there's one more thing. The Watchers believe that Kaia may be able to sense other Immortals at almost double the usual range."

"Is that possible?" MacLeod asked, looking at Methos. Methos shrugged.

"Well, just watch yourselves," Joe cautioned.

As they walked to MacLeod's car, Duncan struggled to phrase his request to Methos. "I know you want to take her head because she had you burned, but..."

"Being burned has got nothing to do with it," Methos interrupted. "I mean, yes, it hurt, like nothing you could imagine, but I'm an Immortal. I lived. I got over it. No, I want her head because she took away one of the best lives I'd ever had. And because she fooled me. Twice."

"But all those young Immortals she killed... they're dead because of me. I need to do this, Methos," Duncan said earnestly.

"No. I'm not giving way to you just to salve your guilty conscience."

"But..."

"No. And if you're trying to tell me that's why you want her dead, save your breath. We both know that's not true."

MacLeod opened his mouth to insist that was his reason, but the words stuck in his throat when he met Methos' eyes. They seemed to be looking right through him.

They both got into the car without another word.

 

* * *

**Scene Ten**

Richie stepped out the back door of the house he rented just outside Paris, paused to lock the door, and continued down the steps. He checked his hands, wondering if he'd gotten off all the grease.

He'd been out in the shed working on his bike since 3 am when he'd finally admitted he really wasn't going to get any sleep. He'd been trying to decide whether to stick it out for the remaining week that Altea would be in Marseilles with Amanda, and do the research he was supposed to be doing, or just bag everything and go down there.

After he'd decided to go (never do the work today that you can put off 'till tomorrow), the question became **how**? If he just flew down, she could decide he was checking up on her, or worse, feel like he was suffocating her. It was at this point he'd hit upon the idea of the motorcycle. If he fixed it up, he could ride all the way down there, and she might just see it as a grand romantic gesture.

So he'd worked on it the rest of the night, getting it ready for a long ride, and now he was finally ready to go.

He stopped suddenly, feeling the presence of another Immortal. He reached toward his sword, head turning, eyes searching.

"Mac?" he called out.

He sensed rather than heard something behind him and dove to his left, narrowly escaping what would have been a killing stroke. He rolled back up onto his feet and pulled his sword as he rose. His face grew puzzled as he realized who had attacked him.

"Kaia?" he said incredulously. "What the **hell**?" Then his mouth went dry as he took in her appearance.

She looked completely different from the way she had the night before. She was dressed in a turtleneck and light cotton pants pegged at the ankles, light shoes with good traction, her hair pulled back away from her face. Fighting attire. But the biggest difference was in her eyes. They were cold, hard... lethal.

They had driven to Richie's in silence, Methos using the time to prepare mentally for the coming fight. He knew that he outclassed Kaia as a swordsman, but he wasn't going to underestimate her again.

MacLeod parked the car and they both got out. They could see no sign of either Kaia or Richie.

"Must be 'round the back," Methos commented, and started off in that direction.

"Methos, wait."

"What?!" Methos was impatient now, and his eyes narrowed as he turned to see MacLeod coming around the car.

"You're right," Duncan said quietly, his face working as if the words themselves had a bitter taste.

"Right about what?"

"You're right about me. About why I want her dead."

"How so?" Methos was not willing to let him off the hook. He needed to **say** it.

"She used me. She made a fool of me for centuries, and that's why I want her dead," Duncan said slowly. "We both have scores to settle. Let me settle them for both of us. Please."

Methos searched MacLeod's eyes for a long moment, and then nodded.

Duncan breathed a sigh of relief, and gripped Methos' arm briefly as he moved past the older Immortal. Methos turned to follow. They'd taken no more than a few steps when they heard the distinctive sounds of a sword fight coming from behind the house. They broke into a run.

 

* * *

**Scene Eleven**

"Kaia, why? What have I done to you?" Richie asked, circling warily.

"Nothing, little one, nothing at all." Her voice had changed. The warmth he'd heard in it at the barge was gone, replaced now with an oily hardness that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Then, why come after me?"

"Because you exist, little one," she sneered, lunging at him. Richie parried and stepped back out of her reach.

"Does Mac know you're here?" He was totally on the defensive, warding off her blows, but not attacking himself.

"MacLeod?" she laughed disparagingly, voice full of contempt. "He hasn't a clue. He never did." She attacked again. Richie stepped away from her lunge and blocked, but did not take advantage when she left herself open. More than anything, he wanted to know what she was talking about.

"Never did?"

"Yes, little one, your precious teacher has a blind spot. A flaw." Kaia's laugh was totally without humor. "He's been leading me to young Immortals for centuries." She pressed her free hand to her heart dramatically, and said in a saccharine tone, "He pours out his heart, tells me all about the young ones he's met, all about his students," and her voice grew cold. "And then I go and kill them. Just like I'm going to kill you. A perfect arrangement, don't you think, little one?"

"Oh, absolutely," Richie responded, and with a flurry of blows, put her on the defensive. "There's just one problem..." he said as his sword sank deeply into her abdomen. Kaia fell to her knees, and looked up at him, shocked.

"I am **not** a student." He wrenched his sword free, brought it up and around, and swept her head from her shoulders.

In the lull which preceded the quickening, Richie felt an Immortal's approach, and turned to see MacLeod and Methos come around the corner of the house at a run. The shock on Duncan's face was evident, but he thought there was relief as well. Then the quickening began, sweeping everything else from his mind.

Methos turned away and led an unresisting MacLeod back to the car to wait.

 

* * *

**Scene Twelve**

"I should have known."

Joe and Methos glanced at each other, and Methos rolled his eyes. MacLeod had been wallowing in his guilt since they'd returned to the barge.

Methos rose to his feet. "There was no way you could have known." He picked up his glass and Joe's, and quirked an inquiring eyebrow at Richie, who shook his head. "From the records, it looks as if she was always careful to dispose of the bodies so they wouldn't be found." He took MacLeod's glass from him, moved to the bar, and began refilling their glasses with Duncan's excellent brandy. "She got rid of any evidence there'd been a fight so that it was very unlikely that you would ever find out."

"She was always so warm and generous... I still can't quite make myself believe that she would do that."

"You wouldn't have recognized her, Mac," Richie interjected. "It was like she was a completely different person from the one I met here yesterday. Her eyes..." he suppressed a shudder at the memory.

MacLeod shook his head, looking morose. Methos returned with their brandy, handing Mac his glass. He gave Joe a meaningful look as he handed over his drink and resumed his seat. They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping at the brandy.

"All those young ones..." Duncan muttered.

Joe cleared his throat. "Let's not lose sight of one thing here," he said. "She'd been tracking Connor for months when he led her to you. She watched him knock you on your butt all that afternoon. She must've decided she could take you when she came after you the next day. If it weren't for a few lines of poetry, **you** might have been another young one she cut down."

"That, and your pretty face," Richie added with a grin.

Joe chuckled at that, and Methos' eyes danced merrily behind his glass.

"Well," Richie stood abruptly, putting his half-empty glass on the table. "I'm going home. I have a date with a pillow today, and a girlfriend to surprise tomorrow," he said with a grin. "See you oldtimers later." He touched Mac's shoulder briefly as he passed by on his way to the door.

Duncan looked up. "Safe trip, Rich."

"Always."

Duncan sighed heavily and took another sip of the brandy. "At least she was wrong about Richie," he said finally.

"And she won't be going after any others," Methos said softly. Duncan looked up for a moment, meeting his eyes, and nodded.

 

 

End

 


End file.
